


they see me swinging

by Capiche



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Gen, a tiny little bit of violence, the feel good story we all needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-05 00:46:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11566821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capiche/pseuds/Capiche
Summary: In which Peter Parker is officially 100% better at making friends and figuring out this high school thing, but only about 12% better at being himself at any given time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Friends, I have Plans™ for this story. Crazy, wild plans. Alrighty let's do this.

"I can't _believe_ that Tony Stark," Aunt May hisses, slamming the pots around in the kitchen. It's been T minus ten minutes since she had found Peter wandering around his bedroom in his suit, and only five since Peter's sheepishly explained the whole story to her, and she's decided that some lunch was in order. Peter is most definitely not cowering behind the island bench.  

"Doesn't he know about child protection laws?" she continues, putting down a baking tray with more force than strictly necessary. That tray was never going to be the same again. "Child labour laws, for heavens' sake!"  

"Um." Peter eyes the concoction bubbling away on the stove. Would volunteering to cook lunch to save them both from food poisoning go over well? Although he was a dead man walking at any rate, so.  

"And you!" Aunt May explodes. "Sneaking out of this house so you can – swing around, punching people – oh my god, that bank which got decimated – the _ferry_ \- that was all _you_?" 

There's no good way to answer this one. "Yeah," he admits. "I'm – uh – I'm sorry, Aunt May. I guess I just didn't want you to worry," he finishes, somewhat pathetically. He examines his shoes, not feeling up to meeting her angry – or worse, disappointed – gaze.

Silence.

"Peter," Aunt May says, in an exhale, stepping forward to hold out her arms. "Oh, honey, alright, come here," and he goes willingly into the hug.  

"I'm always going to worry. But I'm not angry." He nods against her shoulder, throat tight, and goes when she pushes gently at him. He allows himself to be pulled to an arms' length so she can look at him over her glasses, like she's committing the image of him whole, unharmed to memory. "But," she adds sternly, "this does not mean you are off the hook." 

 

*** 

 

Life after – because Peter was young, and when one was at that age, things would always be divided into before and after's – life after the Vulture, after Liz, after gaining and losing and then again gaining Tony Stark's stamp of approval, is surprisingly normal. 

His alarm trills at 6:30 AM on the dot, every school morning, to wake him up for Decathlon training. The number of alarms he's had to buy has drastically gone down after Mr. Stark had turned up to take him home from school with a wrapped package in hand.  

"Your Aunt May called me and gave me a real earful," he had said, lips quirking up. "Said something about being irresponsible, and how dare I endanger her only nephew -"  

"I - " Peter had mumbled, trying to cover his face, burning with mortification, with his hands. It hadn't worked, if the amused glance Mr. Stark had given him was anything to go by. "She's – you know, gone through some tough times. She's a bit overprotective of me." 

Mr. Stark paused. "I might know something of how that feels," he'd finally said, casually, too casually. "Anyway, she also told me that if I was going to be dragging you to heaven knows where, and put you know in life-threatening peril every other week, I might as well give you an alarm clock that won't break. So. Here we are."  

Mortification forgotten, Peter had reached out to take the neatly wrapped package. It even had a bow-tie on it, one of the stick-on ones for people who couldn't manage traditional string and scissors.  

"Fresh off the production line," Mr. Stark had said, looking out the window of the car, apparently disinterested. "Go on, have a look. I'd made it for – well, I've known my fair share of super-powered folks who break a lot of property."  

He'd sent Peter off that night, quipping - "This is a hug, but I'm also getting the door for you. Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" he'd added, as the car was pulling away. "And that includes taking on a guy in a mechanised suit _without_ backup!"  

Decathlon practices were more subdued these days, everyone still a little sore over losing Liz as their captain in the lead-up to the International Decathlon. Michelle – MJ – had stepped up to the task admirably, though. She ran everyone through drills, set them practices to do in their spare time, and probably would have cemented her position as an all-round good captain if it weren't for the comments.  

"You know, you're really kind of strong for a kid shorter than me," she mentions casually, after one of their practices, when he and Ned had been helping with clean-up.  

"Um." Peter shoots a panicked glance at Ned, who stares pointedly at the stack of chairs Peter's holding. The stack as tall as Peter. He drops them abruptly, willing the flames in his face to abate. "Um, well, you know - "  

MJ rolls her eyes. "I was just sayin', that's all. It's all cool if you do steroids – although they have some really nasty side-effects on growth and brain development that I'd recommend you look into."  

"Oh right, yeah," Peter clears his voice. "Um - yeah, I'll think about my choices, and all that. Uh. Thanks, MJ."  

"Dude, she's totally going to figure it out someday," Ned whispers harshly, once MJ leaves, citing the need to review Emancipation Act once more before AP History so she "could have a proper debate with Mr. Pringles, his bias makes him such an unreliable historian, man."  

Peter adjusts the strap of his schoolbag, already fraying despite Aunt May's best efforts to purchase a durable one. "Ned, chill, you think _everyone_ _'s_ gonna figure it out." 

"No, seriously, man," Ned says. "Girls figure out everything." 

"Liz didn't figure it out," Peter argues, feeling oddly defensive.  

Ned snorts. "Yeah, no thanks to you - 'I'm here to save the day!'" he says, dropping his voice in a terrible imitation of Peter's voice in the Washington monument.  

"Dude, nobody was paying attention to what I _sounded_ like," says Peter. "Like, in case you hadn't noticed at the time, you were all literally about to smash into little tiny pieces and die a horribly painful death."  

"Nah bro," Ned says, unaffected by the reference to his near-demise. Sometimes, Peter envied the way he always bounced back from near-death experiences, like a remarkably tenacious rubber band. "You have _got_ to do something about the voice." 

And he's got a point, Peter realises later on during AP History, half-listening to MJ decimate Mr Pringle's arguments about why the Emanicipation Act is evidence of America's welcoming attitude to people of colour, and half idly sketching up designs for voice modulators he could integrate into the suit. It had been his voice that had given him away in the end to Toomes, and who knew what other people he could run into later on.  

Ned leans over his shoulder, peering at his design. "Whoa – what's that?"  

"Voice modulator." 

Ned nods, considering. "You're gonna need an extra solenoid there, dude," he whispers back. 

"Mr Parker, Mr Leeds," Mr Pringle calls out. "Do you have something to add to the discussion?" 

"Um," Peter says, growing red at the stares of his classmates. A quick glance spots MJ leaning back in her chair, a few rows ahead, apparently uninterested and unfazed by her heated debate with Mr Pringle. "I think MJ said it all, to be honest - " he cuts off as Ned's elbows lands firmly in his ribs.  

"I see," Mr Pringle says, growing even redder with irritation. "Very well. Moving on, then." 

"Great, now Mr Pringle hates us!" Ned hisses as they spill out into the hallways, their classmates chatting around them. "Did you see his face?"  

"Man, anything's gonna piss that guy off," Peter observes. "And he _is_ a bit of dick, to be honest."  

Ned shakes his head in wonderment. "Dude," he says, with the air of a condemned man, "we are so gonna regret this." 

Peter shrugs. "What's the worst that could happen?" 

 

*** 

 

"Wow," Mr Stark comments, when Peter slinks into practice the following Wednesday. "You look like puberty and teenage angst hit all at once." He makes a face. "Feel free to _not_ ask me to give you The Talk."  

"Hi Mr Stark," Peter says listlessly, and slides into the chair opposite him. They're sitting on the newly converted training level in Avengers Tower, and even the expansive panoramic views aren't enough to cheer him up after the disastrous week in school.  

Mr Stark frowns; taking in his bedraggled appearance and judging, no doubt, Peter thinks mournfully. Mr Stark's disapproval – just what he needed.  

"Okay, spill," Mr Stark says finally. Peter looks up to see him staring back at Peter with a furrowed brow. "What's wrong with you? You're normally so bouncy it's nauseating."  

"My history teacher hates me," Peter says miserably, filing away the bouncy comment to agonise over later. Mr Stark thought he was _bouncy_? Was that a good thing?  

The furrow deepened. "Why does your history teacher hate you? You're a good student – I got FRIDAY to hack your records before Germany."  

Peter slumps even more. "Because he's a racist, biased dick and I got on his bad side." He pauses. "Sorry." 

Mr Stark waves off the apology. "Damn, kid," he comments. "Alright, lay it out. What's he been doing?" 

"You know - " Peter waves a hand. "Picking on me in class. Gave me detention for snarking in class - " 

"Were you snarking in class?" 

"No!" Peter says, indignant, because he would _never_. "Aunt May would kill me for being rude in class! He keeps picking on me and Ned – he's my best friend - and making us present our homework, and making fun of Ned for being Filipino and – and he's just – he's just bitter," Peter finishes, somewhat sulkily.  

"Right." Mr Stark hmm's and makes a note on his phone. "Sounds like you've got a bullying teacher at your school, kid. And funny thing is – the Maria Stark Foundation is pretty big on teachers _not_ being bullies."  

"Huh?" 

"Don’t worry about it," Mr Stark says, hastily. "Alright. Let me tell you something, Peter – I get it. Teachers hate students who show 'em up in class, am I right? And this is not something exactly new to you – am I still hitting all the right answers?" At Peter's nod, he leans in close, conspiratorial grin in place. "Alright, let me tell you about what I did when _I_ was a kid --"  

 

*** 

 

Mr Stark(!!!) (4:50 PM): Did it work?  

Me (4:51 PM): yeah! It was insane, Mr Pringle totally lost it lol  

Me (4:51 PM): I shouldn't laugh 

Me (4:51 PM): but it was kinda funny  

Mr Stark(!!!) (4:56 PM): I got FRIDAY to hack the servers.  

Mr Stark(!!!) (4:56 PM): Can confirm it was funny.  

 

*** 

 

Life doesn't change after Toomes, after the fiery crash that very barely missed the outer Brooklyn suburbs. Peter still has homework, still has Decathlon practice. He rejoins Band and Chess club at Aunt May's urging, and realises that he'd missed playing the piano a lot more than he'd thought.  

"I'm really glad you rejoined," says Betty Brant, the celloist who's always sat nearest to his piano during practices. "It was getting pretty dull – missed all our banter in between repeats."  

Peter smiles back. "Yeah," he agrees. "It's good to be back."  

Betty fiddles a bit with her bow, rechecking the tightness in the strings. "Say," she begins, hesitantly. "How's – uh – how's Ned?"  

"Uh – good. He's good?" 

Peter watches in morbid fascination as Betty's cheeks turn a little pink. "That's good to hear," she says. He opens his mouth to grill her a bit, but Ms Mozin calls for attention at that moment. After practice, Betty packs up her cello and rushes off, not before giving Peter an amiable nod that he returns.  

"Well," he says to himself, absently fingering out the Jaws theme. "That was weird." 

"You realise Betty has a crush on Ned, right?"  

A few keys almost get crushed when he jolts. "MJ!" he says. Why hadn't his spidey-sense alerted him? "Didn't – uh – didn't hear you there." 

"You were pretty out of it," MJ comments, circling around to prop up against the piano, her violin held loosely in one hand, bow in the other. A distant part of him envies the way she seems so comfortable in her own skin, uncaring of the faces everyone seems so intent on painting on her.  

"Ye-ah," he says slowly, before registering her first comment. "Wait – Betty has a _wha_ _at_?"  

"A crush on Ned."  

"A _crush_?!" Peter's head spun. 

"Uh yeah." MJ levels him with a look that is not unlike the ones Aunt May gives him when she thinks he's being deliberately obtuse.  

Peter sits back, thunderstruck. "Oh my God," he says, prayerfully. "Ned is gonna shit himself when he hears this." 

 

*** 

 

"...and then she said - 'Yeah, she's got a crush on Ned' -" 

"Dude-" 

"-and I was like 'whaaa?' -" 

"Dude!" 

"- and she was like 'yeah how many times do I need to say it, are you dumb', you know how she gives you that look -" 

"Peter!" Ned finally cuts him off, clamping a hand firmly over Peter's mouth when he goes to keep going. They both know, of course, that Peter could easily shake him off, but he doesn't.  

" _Dude_ ," Ned says again. "Let me get this straight. Betty – Betty Brant – the one girl I've been crushing on since forever, has a crush on me. No – that's insane, I dunno what MJ's going on about. Aren't you going to say something?" he demands.  

Peter flicks his eyes meaningfully down to the hand over his mouth. "Oh, right," Ned says, sheepishly letting him go.  

"Ned, I reckon this is legit, her second sentence to me was literally asking about you." 

"It was?" 

"Yeah." Peter claps Ned on the back. "C'mon dude, take a chance."  

Ned looks down at his feet, but when he looks up Peter can see resolve in his eyes. "Okay," Ned says. "Alright. I'm gonna do this. I'm gonna do this."  

They stand in silence for a bit.  

"Okay, I'll level with you," Ned admits. "I have no clue what to do."  

 

*** 

 

"Dating advice?" Mr Stark repeats, at their next practice. They've taken a break from running drills and are now elbow-deep in the Sokovia Accords, both metaphorically and literally. "Kid, have you not looked me up on the web? Ha, web," he adds, pleased with his joke.  

"You're the best person I know," Peter pleads. "Mr Stark, Ned really needs your help."  

"Ned Leeds?" At Peter's nod, Mr Stark's gaze turns contemplative. "Interesting kid, that one."  

"He's really nice, I promise." 

"Hmm." Mr Stark shuffles a few more pages of the Accords away. "He was the one who hacked the suit, wasn't he?"  

Peter hesitates. "Ye-ah," he admits, because there's probably no point in lying to Mr Stark. "But, Mr Stark-" 

"It's Tony, kid." Mr Stark's gaze turns wry. "Calm down, I'm not angry at your friend. I'm actually pretty impressed."  

"Impressed?" 

"Your pal managed to bypass Stark security," Mr Stark points out. "It was a slightly watered-down version, to be fair, but still. He did it with little more than a souped up laptop from off the shelf, from what FRIDAY's tracker read."  

"It was a latest generation Dell Alienware laptop," FRIDAY amends, sounding mildly revolted. "Not even StarkTech."  

"Ned is really smart," Peter agrees. "He aces computer sciences and AP Math. I beat him in AP Chem though," Peter adds, grinning. Ned _hated_ chemistry.  

"Hence why you are now an actual intern down in Stark Innovations' biochemistry division, working on medical applications for the web fluid. And also why you're going to tell Mr Leeds that he has on offer for an internship, with you, in the coding division – if he wants it, that is."  

Peter's eyes almost fall out of his head. "Really?" he says, unable to keep the quaver of excitement out of his voice. "Ned's gonna lose it, this is so cool, we can work together, his Mum is gonna be so happy, oh my God, lemme text him -" he stops short. "Wait – about the dating thing - "  

Mr Stark grins, a little rueful. "I'm no help with that, kid," he says. "I'm afraid that's the one thing I _can't_ fix. Besides, can't you ask your Aunt May?" 

"I can't ask _Aunt May_ ," Peter says, scandalised, then backtracks. "Okay, yeah I mean I could – but, like, she'd make a fuss, and Ned would get so embarrassed - " 

"Jeez, okay, kid, don't go having an aneurysm on me," Mr Stark says, not unkindly. "Look, if you're really desperate, FRIDAY can compile a list of tips from research." 

"Of course," FRIDAY says, obligingly bringing up a holoscreen next to the table. "Peter, would you like to to refer to Teen Vogue or Vanity Fair? I can access several years' worth of backdated issues." 

"Uh," Peter says. "Actually – you know what – Fry, do you have access to any studies?"  

 

*** 

 

"So I wake up in the morning," Ned says to him, when they meet up by the lockers next Monday morning. "And I check my phone, and boom – I have a message from some random. From who? FRIDAY, _Tony Stark's_ freakin' _A.I_., that's who." 

Peter grins into his locker. "Did you actually read the stuff?"  

"Uh, _yeah_ ," Ned enthused. "An A.I. sends me a whole bunch of research – what am I gonna do, _not_ read it? It's actually pretty interesting," he adds.  

"That's funny, seeing how much you suck at AP Biology," Peter says, then cackles as he dodges the elbow to his ribs.  

"I might actually do my project in this," Ned muses, as they head to math. "Do you think Mr Crick will let me?"  

"Dude, that guy's got a perpetual stick up his ass." Peter hikes up his books a little. "By the time you get him to agree, the whole project will be over." 

Ned sighs. "Truth, man. Truth. Fine – what's your project gonna be on?" 

Peter snickers. "Replicated spider web fluid for real-life applications." 

"Isn't that -" Ned squints. "Isn't that what you're doing with your internship with Mr. Stark, though?"  

"Exactly." 

Ned sucks in an outraged breath. "No way." 

"Hell yeah -" 

"That's-" Ned scowls. "I don't know whether to be mad or impressed," he admits. 

"Be impressed," Peter tells him, shifting his books again. He needed a book bag, stat, or all these books were going to end up on the floor one day, and Mr. Kowalski, the librarian, hated him enough already.  

Ned crosses his arm. "I'm gonna go with mad," he decides.  

"Be impressed," Peter repeats, "'cause Mr. Stark wants you to intern for him, too."  

He savours the gobsmacked Ned's expression. "No way." 

"Way." 

"Dude." 

"Are we really gonna do this again?" Peter asks. "I mean, first it was all 'dude, Betty can't like me', and now it's 'dude, Mr. Stark wouldn't want me to intern for him', which is ridiculous by the way, you're so smart - "  

"I was gonna say that this is freakin' awesome," Ned says. "But like, yeah, that was my second line, thanks." 

"Bo- _ring_ ," Peter says, "I hope you use better ones when you ask Betty out." 

"When I – _Peter_ ," Ned hisses, glancing furtively up and down the hallway for a familiar neatly combed blonde head. "What if she hears?" 

Peter snorts. "Then I would've just accelerated the timeline of this shindig, like, triple speed." 

"Rude." 

"So true, though, sorry bro." 

"What's true?" They both start.  

"Unless it's something private," MJ continues, walking towards them. She's dressed warmly in a thick blue coat that doesn't quite match the off-brown pants she's got on. Still looks nice though, Peter thinks, and then promptly wonders where that came from.  

"It's kind of private," Ned says. "Except apparently you were the one who figured it out, anyway, so eh. Just don't tell Betty, yeah?" 

MJ favours them with her most withering look. "Why would I tell Betty?" she points out. "We don’t talk. It'd be like me going up to her and being like: 'Hi Betty! How're you going? By the way, Ned has a crush on you'."  

"Ned has a _what_?" a voice interrupts, and they all start again to see Betty at the end of the corridor, staring at them. Or, more specifically, at Ned.  

Peter shoots a quick glance at Ned. Ned, who makes a strangled noise not unlike the corner store's cat had when Peter had pulled them out of the fire.  

"Why don't you guys have a talk," Peter suggests, when it becomes obvious that Ned isn't going to do anything dignified. He gives Ned an encouraging smile. Was this what wing-people did? Possibly. It wasn't like either Peter or Ned had ever done this before. He gently pushes Ned forward; Ned, who now looks like the corner store's cat that time Peter had been conned into giving her a bath for a pittance.  

"I don't handle these kinds of emotions so well," MJ announces, after Peter drags her into an alcove with her down the hallway. Far away so that he can give Ned and Betty some privacy, but close enough so that he can launch contingency Plan Spidey-Swings-Past if necessary.  

"Yeah, neither," Peter admits, ducking his head back around the corner. It still looked alright. Ned hadn't signalled for help or anything. In fact –  

MJ peers over his shoulder. "What's Ned doing with his hands?" 

"He's saying it's going to plan, no need for intervention but back-up needs to be on standby." 

"Back up?"  

Peter grins, and points to himself.  

MJ raises an eyebrow. "Wow."  

"Hey, don't knock it 'til you've tried it," Peter quips, then winces. "Sorry, wrong saying."  

"You're kind of a tragedy," MJ tells him, but she doesn't look like she's suddenly smelt something bad anymore, so Peter counts that as a Situation Well Handled.  

He glances at his watch. "How long do these kinds of things usually take?" 

"How should I know." MJ crosses her arms, and Peter shrugs because yeah, he gets that.  

He gets an idea, then.  

"What are you doing?" MJ leans in to look at his phone. "Did you just take a _photo_ of them? That's kinda weird."  

"Not weird," Peter promises her, quickly jotting out a message to go with the photo before hitting send. A few moments later, his phone buzzes. 

 

Mr Stark(!!!) (2:23 PM): Ah, young love.  

Mr Stark(!!!) (2:23 PM): Why are you taking photos of your friend asking out someone? 

 

MJ makes a noise of triumph, pointing at the screen. "I told you! Weird." 

"Shut up," Peter bitches back.  

 

Me (2:24 PM): not creeping on him, promise 

Me (2:24 PM): im his wingperson  

 

He doesn't have to wait long.  

 

Mr Stark(!!!) (2:26 PM): Wingperson? Like, wingman?  

Me (2:26 PM): yeah, but Ned and I decided it wasn't very egalitarian of us to say wingman 

Me (2:27 PM): I mean, what if one of us decide we want to change genders in the future? 

 

There's a long pause. Then: 

 

Mr Stark(!!!) (2:31 PM): Yeah, you're gonna be fine, kid.  

 

What did that even _mean_? Peter's fingers hover over the keyboard, indecisive. Was that a good thing? Was Mr Stark being sarcastic? Was -  

"Ow," he mumbles when a bony elbow lands in his ribs. "MJ, what -"  

"Pay attention," she commands, focussing intently on the hallway. "What's that one mean?" 

Peter looks, and almost whoops. "Betty said yes!" 

 

*** 

 

"Ned said yes," Peter explains to Mr Stark, later on during the actual internship part of his week. They're waiting for the results of the latest batch of testing to come through – if this is successful, it'll mean one step closer to actually making Peter's web-fluid useful for saving lives.  

In more ways than one.  

"Sounds like he's getting married," Mr Stark comments, raising an eyebrow. "Let me guess - to that blonde kid in the photo you sent?" 

"Ned's not getting _married_ ," Peter says, appalled, "they're _dating_ now. Betty asked. Ned was like ohmygodyes." At Mr Stark's amused glance, he shrugs. "His words, not mine." 

Mr Stark looks heavenward. "Dating, wow. I remember the first time I dated-" 

Peter grimaces. "Please, no." It was like when Aunt May dusted off the metaphorical albums and insisted on talking him through dating as an adolescent. Peter knew how to date. He'd read books.  

"Shush, kid, the adult is speaking," Mr Stark says, without missing a beat – Peter would be due for a very unpleasant flashback to the Staten Island debacle, if it weren't for his light tone. "Alright, so the first time I dated, I was sixteen." 

"Sixteen?!"  

"Always the tone of surprise," Mr Stark sighs. "Yes, kid, sixteen." 

"I-" Peter trails off. "Nevermind." 

Mr Stark raises an eyebrow. "Are you really gonna leave me hanging?" 

Oh, what the hell. He couldn't be grounded _again_ , not when the previous grounding was technically still in force. "I thought it would've been much earlier. All the articles..." 

"Technically, they were right." Mr Stark turns away to fiddle with the controls of the testing rig. "It depends on how you define dating, I guess. I've always thought it's got a lot more to do with getting to know people you actually like." 

"That's really romantic, Mr Stark." 

"Romantic!" Mr Stark says, in mock outrage. "Well, guess what the moral of this story is." 

"The story about you secretly being a romantic?" 

"The story about dating being something you do with people you actually like, smartass." 

Peter thinks. "Don't date people with dads that are secretly mega-villains?" 

"Close," Mr Stark says, "it's Be Responsible." 

Peter looks at him questioningly, and Mr Stark grins evilly; "Like, One-Night-Stands-Aren't-Good, Always-Use-Protection, 'be responsible'."  

"Gross!" Peter groans, utterly revolted but also laughing. "I – that's so gross!" Mr Stark reaches over to noogie his hair, and Peter squirms away, still shaking helplessly. "Noooooo," he whines.  

"Your Aunt May can thank me for giving you the Talk," Mr Stark observes, looking satisfied. "Or, one part of it, at least. Tell her I dibs not." 

"Tell her yourself," Peter retorts, making futile attempts to push his hair back into some semblance of order.  

"I could," Mr Stark muses. "Our lunch is coming up, anyway." 

Peter balks. "Lunch? What lunch?" 

Mr Stark rolls his eyes. "Your aunt and I have lunches once a month," he explains casually, like he isn't confirming Peter's worst nightmare. "It was one of her conditions for letting you be Spiderman. Didn't she tell you?" 

"No?!" 

"Breathe, kid, you look like you're gonna pass out. It's not a big deal, don't sweat it. DUM-E, no, leave him alone," he adds, when DUM-E rolls up, offering Peter a glass of viscous green gloop.  

"You and Aunt May have lunch every _month_?" Peter yelps, still very much sweating it. "What do you guys even do?"  

"What do you think?" Mr Stark says. "Eat food, avoid tabloids, talk about you and how you're going-" 

"Oh my God," Peter says, face flaming. It was official. He could never show his face around Stark Tower _or_ his home again. He hoped Ned's parents would be willing to take him in for a while, possibly forever. If that didn't work, he could probably make a living doing tricks in some circus.  

He looks up from his mini meltdown to see Mr Stark watching him thoughtfully. "You know, I'm not the best at dealing with people," he remarks. "As anyone – actually, don't. But even as wildly incompentent as I am in this arena, I can't help but notice that you're not doing so well over there." 

Peter's gaze drops back down. "I just – don't want you to get disappointed in me," he tells the scuffed material of his worn trainers. "You, or Aunt May." 

For a moment, only the humming of the testing rig can be heard in the lab.  

"Kid – Peter," Mr Stark finally says. He sounds impossibly tired, all of a sudden. "Peter, I – if there's anything I've done, or Happy's done, or Pepper – I don't know – if anyone's done something, or said something to make you feel like you're a disappointment -" 

"You haven't -" Peter bursts out, hating Mr Stark's defeated tone. "Nobody's done anything. I guess it's just, you know, teenager things." He shrugs, and smiles weakly.  

"Oh for fuck's sake," he thinks Mr Stark mutters, before he's swept up into a strong, warm hug. Peter stands there, frozen, before his neocortex steps in and he hastily brings his hands up to hug Mr Stark back.  

It's not altogether unpleasant. Mr Stark is wearing one of his tailored suits, the actual suit jacket long gone somewhere in the workshop, with safety gear tossed on over it half-heartedly. Peter's own safety gear has been rigorously layered on at Mr Stark's insistence, with part of the bright orange safety vest currently wadded uncomfortably in his right armpit.  

"Alright," Mr Stark says, letting him go but stopping him from going too far with a stern look. "I'm going to say this once, and only once, so you better listen up, okay?"  

Peter nods.  

"Peter," Mr Stark says, "I am proud of you. I am so, so proud of you. You're a good kid who tries their best to do good things - and yeah, you've made mistakes. But haven't we all?" He gives Peter a rueful smile. "Your heart's in the right place, and that's what matters. And all this emotion is giving me hives, but I want you to know that you are probably one of the only things I've done right, okay?" He lets Peter go fully, and pretends to grasp at his chest exaggeratedly. "Ah yep, there we go. I'm feeling the itch already." 

"Oh no," Peter deadpans, but he can't help the relieved smile that he can feel spreading across his face. "Thanks for taking one for the team, Mr Stark." 

"Any time, kid," Mr Stark says, winking. "But call me Tony. C'mon, we've been through this." 

 

*** 

 

Aunt May (6:32 PM): Are you staying out late?  

Aunt May (6:35 PM): Just let me know so I don't order too much takeout  

Me (6:36 PM): thanks Aunt May! I was just with Mr Stark, but I'm coming home now 

Me (6:37 PM): hes gonna take me home so dw  

Aunt May (6:38 PM): Ask him if he wants to stay for dinner  

Me (6:38 PM): OMG NO THAT'S SO EMBARRASSING 

Aunt May (6:39 PM): Hey now, we have perfectly good takeout  

Me (6:39 PM): :((((((  

Me (6:39 PM): oh no he said yes  

Me (6:39 PM): Aunt Maaaaaaay 

Aunt May (6:45 PM): :)  

Aunt May (6:45 PM): Does he want Chinese or Thai?

 

*** 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets thrown into a wall and bonds with MJ. But not necessarily in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You folks, thank you for the kind words :)
> 
> I know a lot of you liked how this was a happy story, and I promise you that it still is - but it had also always been in the cards for a little bit of retrospection to occur, and by nature of Peter Parker, some of it will be a bit sad. Please note that I've added a new tag - "mild violence" - because yes, Peter gets thrown into a wall. Other than that, I don't believe there's anything to mention but let me know if you have some suggestions. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Life after Ned and Betty start dating is remarkably – lacking in Ned.  

"Wow, again?" asks MJ when he comes trudging into Decathlon practice. Peter nods miserably, and she sighs. "Boys are so exhausting." 

"Hey," Peter protests.  

"Don't _hey_ me. He and Betty start dating, and you start moping around the place like someone kicked your puppy." She tilts her head, considering. "Actually, it's more like you _are_ the puppy." 

Peter mashes his face into the table. "I'm not a puppy." 

"You are. Look at you – you're at Decathlon practice - " 

"Am I not supposed to be at Decathlon practice?" 

"- a whole half-hour early," MJ finishes.  

"You're a whole half-hour early, too," Peter points out.  

"Yeah, but I'm the captain. You're supposed to be one of those underlings who I have to drag to practice, because you'd rather be elsewhere with your _friends_." 

"He likes hanging out with Betty," Peter mumbles, cringing at the unspoken " _more than he likes hanging out with me_ " that they can both hear.  

MJ puts her flashcard aside, a token passed on to her by Liz before she'd left. "Have you tried to, you know, talk to him about this? God, I sound like Mr Schlippe."  

Mr Schlippe was Midtown's resident counsellor, infamous for his non-sequiturs and tendency to quote long-dead philosophers, apropos of totally nothing.  

"Um, I text him a lot," Peter says, deciding to not comment on the alarming similarity between MJ and Mr Schlippe. 

MJ rolls her eyes. "Let me rephrase. Have you tried _actually_ talking to him?" 

"What difference would that make?" Peter despondently lets his face mash back into the table. God, he and Ned were supposed to be _bros for life_. When had that changed? 

"Do you moonlight as a drama student?" MJ says. "Talk to him, not the table. And take your melodrama somewhere else." 

"Talk to who?" Ned slides into the seat beside Peter. "Hey Peter! Haven't seen you in a while." 

"Hey Ned," Peter says, avoiding MJ's pointed look, busying himself with shuffling around his books and materials. His hopes that Ned won't notice his remarkably low disposition of late fall flat when Ned turns to face Peter with a small frown.  

"Everything okay?" he asks. "You look a bit...down." He leans in closer, lowering his voice. "Is everything okay with the – you-know-what?"  

"I'm not down," Peter promises. "And it's not the thing, either."  

Ned looks at him sombrely for a few more beats. It's a strange expression on his friend's normally jovial face. Peter doesn't think he likes it. "Okay," Ned says at last. Behind him, the other Decathlon team members are filtering in. "But - if you need help -"  

"You're my guy in the chair," Peter finishes, and they share a conspiratorial grin.  Good ol' Ned.  

Of course, the warm feeling takes on something of a sour edge when Ned checks his phone at the end of Decathlon practice and immediately breaks out into a wide, goofy grin. "Gotta go," he says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "Betty and I are gonna study for World History."  

"I can't believe taking that subject actually paid off in the end," Peter says. 

"Same," says Ned, so happy that Peter can't muster up the energy to feel overly hurt. "Alright, catch you later, Peter, MJ."  

"See ya, dude," Peter says, waiting the whole ten seconds it takes for Ned to exit the room before slumping back down over his desk.  

"This is actually so sad to watch," MJ remarks as she packs up her materials. "I can't even bring myself to draw a picture of you in crisis. It's too pitiful."  

Peter turns his head so he can watch her methodically work. Flashcards go into the box Liz had made for them, schedules for their practices go into a clear plastic folder; both are neatly placed into her satchel – a durable looking thing made of canvas and covered in badges. He thinks he can see a scuffed red Women's march one, right next to a "Save The Whales" badge resplendent in shades of green. _Light protesting in front of embassies_ , he thinks, and finds himself needing to bite back a small grin despite the dire straits of his friendship with Ned. And his suddenly very empty afternoon ahead. 

"Hey MJ," he says, a moment later. "You free after this?" 

 

*** 

 

Me (5:00 PM): gonna stay out for a bit this afternoon  

Aunt May (5:07 PM): Alright, have fun :)  

 

*** 

 

It turns out MJ is free for the afternoon, and also willing to spend time with Peter despite the fact that she has to swipe his phone around the tenth time Peter checks it to no avail.  

"Seriously," she says, holding it out of reach easily. "You need to either talk to Ned, or let the guy enjoy his date."  

"Gimme my phone," Peter says, wondering if it's worth the inevitable questions for him to jump and grab it. "MJ, come on-"  

She holds it higher. "I'll give it back if you promise to stop moping over it all the time," she says sternly. "This is an intervention. I am intervening."  

"Your intervention sucks," Peter tells her, but slumps back down into the booth they've commandeered at the local library.  

"Nobody said I had to be good at intervening," MJ points out, handing back his phone when she deems Peter ready to be an adult once more. "But as your Decathlon team captain, I am holding an intervention for you. You're welcome."  

Peter reaches out to check his phone, then freezes under the warning glance MJ gives him. "Not as my friend?" he tries.  

"What?"  

"The intervention," he clarifies, taking his hand away and sitting on it. "You're doing it because you're the team captain, and not because you're my friend?"  

MJ stills. "Do you...want it to be as a friend?"  

Peter shrugs. "You said your friends call you MJ. I call you MJ."  

"Infallible logic, Mr Parker." MJ gives him an approving glance. "Alright, well then as your friend I'm gonna have to tell you to please talk to Ned. You're gonna go crazy, and then I'm gonna go crazy because you'll be back to sloping out of class and practices, and quitting clubs left, right, and centre -"  

"I didn't!" Peter protests. "Well okay, but I rejoined after a bit."  

"After all the Spiderman stuff went down?"  

Peter doesn't quite do a spit-take, thanks to quick reflexes, but it's certainly a near thing and he does end up inhaling half his mouthful accidentally. His eyes water as he tries to hold back several coughs unsuccessfully, wincing when MJ helpfully thumps him on the back.  

" _What_?" he demands, once he's able to take a full breath without feeling the urge to hack up his lungs.  

"Are you going for denial?" MJ asks drolly. "Habitual liar, I knew it." 

Peter opens his mouth to say many things, but what ends up coming out is: "Habitual _liar_?" 

MJ pins him with a Look. "'Hey Peter, why'd you miss Decathlon practice?' 'Uh, nothing, just had to do something for my internship.'"  

"Right." _Awkward_. "Mr Stark made up that as a cover?" 

"So Mr Stark's a habitual liar, too?"  

"He's _not_ ," Peter denies, deeply offended on Mr Stark's behalf. "He's just...very good at hiding the truth."  

"Hiding the truth," MJ repeats incredulously, probably wanting to make some comment about that having less substance than Mr Pringle's understanding of social dynamics in modern USA. 

"It's a thing," Peter insists, wondering what the protocol was when someone found out your secret identity, and whether Mr Stark would have any pointers. He lowers his voice. "Did you hear a rumour or something?" 

"I figured it out." MJ quirks a not-smile at him. "Since DC."  

" _What_?"  

"You look like a parrot when you do that," MJ tells him. "But yeah, how coincidental is it that Peter Parker goes missing the night before our Decathlon competition _in Washington_ , and then something goes wrong _in_ _Washington_ , and then boom – Spiderman comes in to save the day. In Washington. Despite only ever being sighted in New York before."  

"I was in Germany, too!"  

"'Cause Iron Man took you there. Iron Man, who is Tony Stark, who you were apparently on an internship with." MJ rolls her eyes. "Didn't take a genius to put together the pieces after that. You should be thanking your lucky stars that Liz didn't figure it out. Didn't you get her dad arrested?"  

And there went the thought Peter had been skirting around for the past few weeks. MJ had a way of doing that, of pointing out precisely what you didn't want to think about and laying it out on the table like a particularly dirty piece of laundry.  

"...yeah," he mumbles. "Look, you know, I think I should be getting home, I got a lot of homework to do-"  

He had no homework to do. Christ, he really was a habitual liar.  

"Hey," MJ says. "Oi, punk, I didn't mean to call you out like that. It wasn't your fault. Any of it." 

Except it _had_ been his fault. The ferry splitting in half and almost killing everyone on board, the plane that had crash-landed just a few hundred metres shy of Brooklyn, and Liz having to face the fact that her father was now an incarcerated criminal. God, and what else? What else could still happen, and because of Peter?  

He starts when fingers snap crisply in front of his face. "Okay, intervention time," MJ says. "As your friend, I'm gonna apologise. That was out of line, and I don't think we're up to the gentle bullying yet."  

Peter shakes his head, half to say no, it's cool, don't sweat it; and half because he hopes that if he spins round and round and round enough he can fling all those thoughts and memories out of his head and leave all the good parts of being Spiderman behind, like the way he's seen the centrifuge in Mr Stark's lab separate blood into all the different bits at the press of a button.  

Peter opens his mouth, then shuts it. There are a million things he could say right now, but most of them are too soon, or too late, and MJ is still peering intently at him from across the table, brow furrowed. "Yet?" he says.  

"What?"  

"You said we weren't up to the gentle bullying, yet," Peter clarifies, watching the way MJ's shoulders drop half an inch. "Should I be worried for the future?" 

"Probably," MJ says in what passes as kindly for her. "It's what friendships are made of."  

 

*** 

 

"Are we friends with MJ now?" Ned wonders, during the next gym class. In an unprecedented move, she'd come to sit right next to Peter and Ned instead of laying out her mat a few metres away.  

"I guess so," Peter says, finishing another set of sit-ups. "She's pretty cool."  

"She is," Ned agrees. "Crap, look a more puffed out, Coach Wilson is looking at you funny again."  

Peter immediately slows down. "Is he still looking?"  

"Nah, you're fine now." Ned grins. "I'm surprised MJ hasn't figured it out, though. Haven't you guys been hanging out more now?"  

"Actually, about that..." Peter trails off as Ned's eyes go wide. "Yeah." 

"She figured it out?" Ned hisses. "What is she, some super-spy?"  

"Dude, I legit dunno." He spots Coach Wilson side-eyeing him again, and hastily fakes an appropriately pained expression for someone on their fiftieth sit-up. "We were hanging out after Decathlon practice, and she was just like yo so what's up with the Spider-man thing?"  

"Oh, my God," Ned says.  

"What's this about Ned's God?" MJ says, plopping back onto her mat, a different book in hand. 

"Ned found out about how you found out about me being Spider-man," Peter explains, resuming his sit-ups after taking an appropriately long break. 

"Yeah, you guys aren't very good at keeping secrets," MJ says. "Peter especially." 

"Hey!" Peter protests. "I'm _great_ at keeping secrets."  

"Parker? Great at anything?" Flash saunters up. "Think we need to take him to the medbay, he's clearly delusional. Gonna tell us he's Spider-man next."  

"Um," Peter says with a nervous laugh, just as Ned pipes up and says, "Yo Flash, when are you gonna stop being so jealous of Peter?"  

"I'm not _jealous_ ," Flash says, turning red. "Just saying, he can't make Decathlon practices half the time, always getting called out in class-"  

"Hey Flash," MJ suddenly says. "What's the name for the natural fertilisation process of soil in farming?"  

Flash freezes. Beside Peter, Ned drops his head into his hands. "What?" 

"The answer's nitrification," MJ says, just as Ned's shoulders begin to shake gently, "and this is why you aren't moving from the first alternate spot any time soon. I literally asked you that same question last week. Think what you want about Peter, but I only have to repeat things _nonce_ with him, so." 

Flash's ears go flaming red. "Fine," he says, slinking off.  

"Are you okay," Peter says, poking Ned in the shoulder, who finally lifts up his face so Peter can see faint tears of laughter.  

"Dude," Ned says, voice hushed with awe. "That was _awesome_." 

"He needs to learn to actually try harder," MJ comments, sticking her nose back into her book. "He could probably do amazing things, if he'd just get over his complex about Peter."  

"His complex?" Peter repeats, horrified. "What do you mean, his _complex_?"   

"I think he can't decide whether he wants to hate you or be you," Ned says, and Peter would admire his surprising insightfulness if he weren't too busy being confused.  

"Why does he want to be me? I've literally been grounded for the rest of my life."  

"Yeah, but better than doing nothing worthwhile your entire life," MJ points out, just as Coach Wilson comes over and sets them another thirty sit-ups for the chit-chat and sufficiently distracting Peter from the sudden warmth in his chest.  

 

*** 

 

When it happens, Peter and MJ are heading down the road to the new ice cream parlour, Fortescues, which Peter knows MJ is secretly excited about despite claiming that she wants nothing to do with feeding the machine of capitalism. They're just a few intersections away when Peter stops dead in the mid-road, mid-discourse about cultural hegemony in the twenty-first century.  

"Are you dead," MJ says, looking over her shoulder to where he stands, frozen, with what sounds like the whole of the Queens' driving population honking at him to get the hell out of the way. "Dude, are you having a moment?" 

Peter nods numbly, and she makes an 'o' of understanding, jogging back over to him. She flips one of the drivers the bird when they blare their horn for an obnoxiously long time. "Leave him alone, he's having a moment!" 

"Have a moment somewhere else, chrissakes!" the driver hollers back, leaning on their horn again.  

"Chill out, dude, _seriously_ -" MJ grabs a hold of Peter's sleeve and drags him to the other side of the road. Peter goes willingly, still dazed. "Peter, what the fuck."  

Peter looks down at where her fingers are curled into the worn fabric of his favourite jumper. "Are we bros?" he asks. "I mean – obviously you're not a _bro_ bro, but are we like, best buddies?"  

MJ stares at him. "You almost got us killed because you realised we were _best buddies_?"  

"Nooo-" MJ looked at him flatly. "Um. Yes?"  

"Tragic," MJ says, releasing his jumper and striding away down the road to Fortescues. "Absolutely tragic."  

"Wait!" Peter calls, scrambling to catch up. Damn, MJ was _fast_ when she put her mind to it. "Wait, are we buddies?"  

"No, Peter, I'm getting ice cream with you because I actually hate you." MJ slows down minutely, much to his relief. His legs were not that long, and he patently refused to start jogging on moral grounds.   

"We _are_ buddies." Peter almost bounces, but manages to heel the urge in time, remembering Mr Stark's bouncy comment. There's nothing he can do about the probably idiotic grin spreading over his face, though. "Does that mean we can call each other nicknames?"  

"No."  

"Are you sure?" Peter wheedles, "I have some really good ones. I make great nicknames." 

"No."  

Peter plays his winning hand. "All my friends have nicknames."   

MJ side-eyes him. "You call Ned, Ned." 

Peter shakes his head. "Nah, we have so many nicknames. He's Yoda, I'm Luke." Peter allows himself one tiny, little bounce, unable to contain his energy. "Ned does _the best_ impressions." 

"Why are you Luke, then?"  

"I wanted to be Leia." Peter pouts, only a bit. "But Ned said that I wasn't allowed to be Leia, because I wasn't cool enough. Also, the Spider-man thing."  

"The Spider-man thing," MJ echoes, and looks contemplative. "Star Wars is cool," she says, clearly coming to a decision, because she then adds, "but completely veto-ing it as nickname-inspiration."  

"What? Why?"  

"Because, street cred," MJ says, which doesn't make any sense at all, "and dignity", which does.  

"Who need's that diggity," Peter says, seriously. "Okay, can I call you Salty, then?" 

MJ frowns. "Salty?"  

"Because...you're very salty?" Peter wavers at MJ's Look. "Um, I'm sorry, I was trying to be funny, please don't murder me -"  

MJ snorts. "If I wanted to murder you, I'd just tell Flash what you've been up to all this time." 

"Right yeah, let's not do that," Peter says hastily. "Soooo..." 

"Only once a month," MJ stipulates. He opens his mouth to protest, and she holds up a finger. "And only when I feel like it."  

"That's not how a nickname works!" Peter whines. "M-jaaaaay."  

"I already have a nickname," MJ points out.  

Peter grumbles, then subsides, because yeah, that is true, and also because they've about reached the ice cream parlour now, and Peter has a philosophy that ice cream could never be eaten while grumpy. "Alright," he says. "Then what's my nickname?" 

MJ grins with her all teeth, and pushes open the door. "I'll think about it."  

"Oh God, it's going to be something terrible, isn't it?"  

MJ confirms his suspicions by smiling pleasantly at the shop assistant. "Hi, could I have two scoops of the double chocolate with chopped pecan nuts, please?" 

"You got it," says the shop assistant, whose name proclaims her to be a Queenie. "What'll your friend here have?" 

Peter beams. "Rocky Road. With extra chocolate sauce, please." He kindly ignores MJ's muttered _tragic_ , because Rocky Road was glorious and nothing could detract from that.  

They pay and take their ice cream out to the front to eat. His toes curl inside his worn trainers at the first spoonful, and the next. It's a glorious day, and sitting in the sunlight Peter absently wonders if it's possible to actually float away from being too happy, like Violet Beauregarde but without turning blue and spherical. After all, he couldn't be able to be Spider-man if he was the shape of a soccer ball and ten times bigger.  

Something pokes his arm. "You were grinning at nothing," MJ explains when he looks at her questioningly. "It was weirding me out."  

"You're just allergic to fun," Peter teases. There's a smudge of ice cream on her upper lip that he'll point out to her later, if he's feeling nice.  

MJ wrinkles her nose. "There's no time for fun when there's a patriarchy to topple." 

"That's fair," Peter says. "Can I be your assistant when you inevitably take over the world?"  

"Only if you promise to stop grinning to yourself," MJ says, "I can't have minions like that, it's unbecoming."  

"Well if it's _unbecoming_ ," Peter says. Then, to his utter horror, he adds: "Do you want to come over for dinner sometime?" A pause. "Um. Only if you want to?" 

  _Abort_ , urges one half of his brain. _Abort before you get shot down back to one friend_. The other half disagrees, the half which also usually has him flinging himself off skyscrapers with nothing but biocable made under his desk in AP Chemistry to keep him from going _splat_.  

"It'll be fun?" Peter tries, attempting damage control. It was hard, usually it was all damage and no clean-up. "We can get take out?"  

MJ appraises him over her ice cream. "What day?"  

"Er - Tuesday?" Peter says, a bit thrown by her easy acquiesce despite the knowledge that they were _bros_ now. "Aunt May will be home early on Tuesday." 

"Alright," MJ agrees. "Let's do that." 

"Alright," Peter squeaks, trying not to hyperventilate, and buries himself back in his ice cream before he embarrassed himself anymore.   

 

*** 

 

Me (4:30 PM): MJ'S COMING OVER FOR DINNER NEXT TUESDAY 

Me (4:30 PM): omg what are we gonna do 

Aunt May (4:34 PM): We'll make sure to order the best takeout available ;)   

Aunt May (4:35 PM): And you're going to actually clean your room  

Me (4:35 PM): pls don't say it  

Aunt May (4:35 PM): For the first time in forever.  

Me (4:35 PM): why 

Me (4:35 PM): why did I show you frozen why  

Aunt May (4:36 PM): :P  

Aunt May (4:36 PM): One question though.  

Me (4:36 PM): mm 

Aunt May (4:36 PM): Who's MJ? 

 

*** 

 

"You must be Michelle!" says Aunt May brightly, opening the door wide. Behind her, Peter can see their scrupulously cleaned countertops and tables gleaming dully in the weak afternoon light that filtered through. "Come on in."  

_She's so much taller than you_ , she mouths at Peter behind MJ's back. 

_Hilarious_ , Peter mouths back. He maintained that there was still growing to be done, although it had been something of a sore point that after everything that had happened with the spider-bite, growing taller had apparently not been on the agenda. And there were only so many of Aunt May's 'your body is flowering' talks he could take.   

He tunes back in to hear MJ talking to Aunt May. "You have a nice place," she says politely. She sounds weird – not because of the politeness, but because -- 

"Are you nervous?" he whispers, once Aunt May's busied herself with doling out the takeout.  

It's a bit hard to tell in the afternoon light, but he thinks MJ flushes a little. " _No_ ," she whispers back indignantly. "She's just—really cool. Way cooler than you."  

"We aren't blood related," Peter concedes, because it was true that Aunt May was a million times cooler than he could ever be, even taking into account the Spider-man thing.  

"What are you two kids whispering about?" Aunt May brings over a tray of bowls. "Michelle, Peter tells me you're vegetarian so I got some vegetable Pad Thai for you - that alright?" 

"Oh, that's totally okay, thank you." MJ spoons some into her mouth, chews. "Whoa – what's in this? It's delicious."  

"They probably put extra seasoning in it," Peter says," 'cause there's a waiter at the Thai place that _luuurves_ Aunt May."  

"He's just got a big heart," Aunt May insists. 

"Almost as big as the crush he has," Peter adds, cackling as he dodges the tea towel Aunt May aims at him. Her aim's never been particularly true, though, and the tea towel lands on the floor after sailing wide past Peter's left.  

"I'm so sorry, we're probably making the worst first impression," Aunt May says cheerfully, after the tea towel's been retrieved and put away. "I'd say we're normally a lot more dignified, but that'd be lying." 

He expects MJ to say something snarky, maybe something about how dignity was an illusion or how Peter clearly got his pre-Spiderman aiming skills from Aunt May (Ned always claimed his right thumb would never the be same again after a mishap in woodwork class involving Peter, Ned's thumb, and a missed hammer swing). Instead, MJ says in an uncharacteristically sincere and non-sarcastic way, "No, this is nice."  

"I'm glad." Aunt May beams, then turns to stare at Peter pointedly until he realises that his spoon is still hovering halfway to his mouth. He quickly puts it back down, automatically sticking out his tongue when MJ laughs at him.  

"Good thing you aren't here when we try to eat in," he finally jokes.  

"Neither of us are particularly gifted in the cooking department," Aunt May's explaining to MJ, who nods understandingly. 

"Don't worry," MJ says. "I've seen Peter in home ed. Say no more."  

 "Hey!" Peter protests. "Remember that time you nearly burnt our cake 'cause you put in half the amount of milk?"  

"Hey, remember the time you nearly burnt down our _whole_ _science block_?"  

"It was only a small fire." Peter sulks, hunkering down behind his takeout as Aunt May and MJ laugh. He springs back up to join the spirited debate about female rights in modern America, even earning a somewhat approving look from MJ when he points out that early suffragettes hadn't cared much for real equality. Perhaps dinner wouldn't be the total disaster he'd envisaged, but he draws the line when Aunt May goes for the photo albums.  

"Ooooookay," he says, diving in front of the cabinets where they kept all their family memories. "Let's uh, let's watch a movie. How about The Force Awakens?"  

"Actually, I've got to get going," MJ says, actually sounding regretful. "My sis will get worried if I'm not home soon." 

"Of course," says Aunt May, instantly losing the faux-woebegone expression she'd been guilting Peter with for the past few seconds. "I'll drive you."  

"No, no, I couldn't trouble you -" 

Aunt May wins out though, and ushers MJ through the door, calling "Be good!" over her shoulder, much to Peter's mortification.  

"When am I not?" he says to the photo of Aunt May on the mantelpiece, beaming and graduating from law school, before bolting for the suit. 

 

*** 

 

"Peter," is the first thing Mr Stark says after Peter finishes regaling him with the saga of his friendship woes, "I want you to appreciate the irony of _you_ , coming to _me_ , for advice about _relationships_."  

"You and Rhodey and Pepper have been friends for _ages_ ," Peter points out. Mr Stark holds up a finger to cut him off.  

"Okay, firstly, we're not that old, thanks," Mr Stark says. "It's been only one age, at most. Secondly, Rhodey and Pepper are special cases. Outliers from the statistical trend. Deviations from the norm. Has your school even gotten up to that yet?"  

"Nah," says Peter, "but I read some books on statistical analysis."  

"Oh my God, it's like looking in a mirror," he thinks he hears Mr Stark mutter. "Alright, look. I can't believe I'm even saying this, but have you tried talking to Ned about this? He literally interns one floor below you. You two have lunch together all the time." 

"Why does everyone keep asking me to talk to him?" Peter says despairingly. "I can't go up to him and say, hey Ned, I know I ditched you while the whole Spiderman thing was going on, and now you have someone you really _like_ like, but please spend more time with me?" 

Mr Stark points a screwdriver at him. "Yes, that."  

Peter can't help the aggravated noise he makes. "I can't say _that_." 

"Why not? It's the truth, it's not aggressive, and you're admitting that you've made a mistake in the past." Mr Stark looks contemplative. "I should take notes actually. FRIDAY?"  

"Noted," FRIDAY says.  

"No, not noted!" Peter flops onto Mr Stark's ratty old sofa, the one that would look rudely out of place on any other floor but inexplicably fits with the assorted, million-dollar machinery littering the workshop. "Arghhh, why am I so bad at this friendship thing."  

There's a clunk, and then the sofa beside his feet is dipping down under the weight of another person. Peter cracks open one eye to peer at Mr Stark, sans screwdriver.  

"Kid," Mr Stark says. "Look. I get it, I really do. Believe it or not, I wasn't exactly Mr Popular at school either. Not Mr Popular now, either, to be fair," he snorts.  

"But you're -" Peter stares. "You're Tony Stark. Everyone loves you. Except Aunt May, but that's only when I come back injured." He hastily backpedals when Mr Stark twists to glance sharply at him. "Only a little bit injured! Barely injured. Promise."  

"We are going to be talking about that later," Mr Stark says sternly, "but for now, yes. Turns out money doesn't matter until you hit the late-teens. Up 'til then, showing up the older kids is not gonna make you friends, no matter how big your allowance is."  

"Ned's never cared about that, though." Peter picks at a loose thread on the knitted throw covering the sofa. It's a blue, red, and white, but the blues are dark and the reds an almost pink, making it look a lot less like the American flag and a lot more like a nice woolly rug, albeit a bit poorly knitted. "It's just, now, after he started dating Betty, we don't really hang out much anymore." 

"I don't think it's because he doesn't like you anymore," Mr Stark says, like he's read Peter's mind. "Don't look so surprised, kid, Pepper made me take some emotional awareness classes after – well, we don't need to get into the specifics. Anyway, the point is – I think it's got a lot less to do with you, and a lot more to do with changing circumstances. And priorities," he adds, sounding kind of weird.   

They both watch DUM-E trying to make a smoothie for a few moments, the can of engine oil they're trying to add into the mix slipping out of their claws and clattering to the ground.  

"Um," Peter finally ventures, tentative. "I never asked. What happened with the Avengers? And Cap? And that whole thing at Berlin?" 

 Mr Stark eyes him, like he's debating what to say. "Well, things changed. We disagreed on some things, and didn't talk it out like we probably should've – you know, hindsight, twenty-twenty and all that, and..." he trails off. "I guess the rest is history. You were there at Berlin." 

Peter remembers the shouts and chaos of fighting, remembers Rhodey plummeting down, and the look on Mr Stark's face when the army had arrived to take away the Scarlet Witch, Falcon, and the dude who had stolen back Captain America's shield from Peter.  

He also remembers waiting, and waiting, and waiting in the hotel in Berlin, while Happy paced and made phone calls. He remembers Mr Stark's bedraggled appearance when he had finally turned up at their hotel room, quipping 'Don't go to Siberia for holidays, kid', and the forlorn silence on the plane trip back, like as if someone or something had died.  

"Wasn't anyone's fault, though, really," Mr Stark adds, his eyes inexplicably on the Captain America stickers that decorate Peter's science folder. "And don't worry. The thing with Ned? It'll be okay." 

 

*** 

 

After Aunt May finds out about the Spider-man thing, after Peter serves out his detention ( _finally_ ), and after he thinks he's gotten over Liz Allan, life settles into a new normal.  

"Whattup," MJ says, nodding to him across the table as Peter slides into his seat beside Ned. He's just in time for Chemistry, thank God. "How's the petty crime in Queens today?"  

"Sparse, with a sprinkling of violent," Peter replies, taking a grateful sip from the water bottle Ned slides his way. "Thanks, man."  

"Why is your elbow bruised?" Ned asks quietly, prodding gently at the already yellowing area, the approximate size and shape of the pole Peter had swung into on the way to school. 

"I keep hitting poles."  

"You keep hitting _poles_?" A few students look over their shoulders to glare at them, and Ned hastily lowers his volume. "How do you keep hitting poles? Shouldn't Karen stop you from hitting them?"  

"Karen warns me, but sometimes I'm going too fast to swerve."  

"Dude," Ned says disapprovingly. "When we start driving, you gotta slow down."  

The new normal is MJ and Ned keeping watch as Peter hastily mixes up a batch of new web-fluid and seals them into flasks for transport, arguing over whether The Force Awakens was too much of a remake or a fantastic nod to the original trilogy, and how to install the voice modulator in Peter's suit.  

But the new normal is also Peter hanging out with MJ when Ned goes to study with Betty. It wasn't that he didn't like hanging out with MJ, but the fact that MJ wasn't Ned. Ned was all warm hugs and encouragement and a liberal dose of fussing over Peter's apparent disregard for personal safety, while MJ was all pointy elbows and pointed words that never failed to make Peter laugh.  

It would all be okay, Peter thinks. Believes it, almost. 

Which is, of course, when The Incident happens.  

 

*** 

 

DJ MJ (4:30 PM): yo punk are you coming to decathlon practice  

Me (4:30 PM): coming 

Me (4:30 PM): dude are you gonna ask me this until the day we finish decathlon  

DJ MJ (4:33 PM): just checking to see you didn't get waylaid by who knows what 

DJ MJ (4:33 PM): I have a vested interest in making sure you actually get to internationals 

Me (4:34 PM): you sound like my Aunt May  

Me (4:34 PM): AND tony  

DJ MJ (4:35 PM): doesn't the fact that everyone is so obsessed with getting you to your 16th birthday tip you off dude   

DJ MJ (4:35 PM): like just maybe you should run away from danger more 

DJ MJ (4:36 PM): and stop running towards it 

DJ MJ (4:42 PM): you should really be more careful tho  

DJ MJ (4:51 PM): dude where are you Ned's here already  

DJ MJ (5:00 PM): okay seriously  

Me (6:16 PM): This is Tony Stark. Peter's in hospital. 

 

*** 

 

To be fair, Peter didn't do it intentionally.  

 

*** 

 

Not that anyone went to hospital intentionally, but.  

 

*** 

 

"Hey Karen," Peter says as he swings towards the small ATM stop apparently being robbed blind in broad daylight. "You reckon MJ will be mad if I'm late for practice?"  

"There's a fifty-one per cent chance MJ will be displeased," Karen tells him. "And, taking into account historic travel times, you have only fifteen minutes to resolve the situation."  

Peter grins. "Better make it fast, then. MJ's mean when she's angry."  

"If you are being bullied by your decathlon captain, Mr Stark would not -"  

"Nah, MJ's awesome," Peter hastens to clarify. "She's not a bully or anything, she just makes these really pointy comments, and it's like holy crap dude, pls, my ego. She says I need someone to keep my ego in check anyway, though." 

Karen processes this. "It is unlikely that you would ever need an ego check," she finally says, then adds: "You are about to swing into that lamppost."  

"Wha- oh _shi_ _t_ \- " Peter swerving sharply and saving his nose from being intimately acquainted with 146th St's lampposts. "Thanks Karen."  

"You need more training," Karen says disapprovingly, clearly still sore about Peter lying to her about finishing his training that time. "I will let Mr Stark know he needs to schedule a few more basic training sessions."  

"What? No!" Peter whines. For all that training was fun, he _hated_ basic training. Anyone would, when it consisted of Peter standing on his hands for hours on end and dodging the items DUM-E threw at him. He suspected Mr Stark still wasn't entirely over the ferry thing, either.  

Which was fair.  

"You're nearing the bank," Karen says, her tone just shy of _we will continue this_ _afterwards_ _, young man_.  

"Fine," Peter grumbles. "Okay, engage enhanced battle mode? Without the instant kill," he adds hastily.  

"Engaging." Karen scans the building. "Detecting seven hostiles."  

"Any enhancements?"  

Karen pauses. "Uncertain. They don't appear to have any noticeable mutations, nor do they have any weapons." 

Peter lands on the roof of the bank. "Alright. I'm engaging them."  

"Good luck," Karen says, and he lines up his shot, readying to hit the door at just the right angle to kick it open without actually breaking it. "Minimising property damage" had been his second lesson with Mr Stark, right after "how to take down a plane _safely_ ".  

He's just jumping off when his HUD goes ballistic and he fumbles his landing, crashing through the window instead. "Karen – what -"  

" _Do not engage_ ," Karen says, her robotic voice the most frantic he's ever heard it. " _I repeat, do not engage_."  

"Um," Peter says, standing amidst the remains of the shattered glass. The seven, most definitely armed and dangerous, hostiles turn to stare at him. He stares back. "Yeah, about that -" 

"Get out of there," Karen commands. "Their weapons are giving off dangerous levels of radiation."  

" _Radiation_?" Peter yelps, backing away as the hostiles advance. They're all wearing ski masks, and one of them, the biggest one, is holding a...crowbar? "I can't let them get out if they've got radioactive weapons, someone could die."  

"That someone will be you if you don't leave," Karen says harshly. "Leave now. I am calling Mr Stark. FRIDAY has issued an alert to any Avengers in the area."  

"I'll hold them until reinforcements arrive," Peter says stubbornly. "I can't let them go."  

"Peter-" Karen starts, but Peter says: "Mute," and ducks just in time to avoid being brained by the  radioactive crowbar.  

"Listen, guys," he calls, jumping to the roof, which is high enough that none of the hostiles can reach him. "I'd love to chat, but I'm really on a bit of a schedule -"  

"Take him out," the one with the crowbar growls. "If Spiderman's here, Iron Man won't be far behind."  

"He's on the fucking ceiling, boss," says the one with the metal helmet, which really doesn't go with the ski mask too well. Peter considers letting him know, but is side-tracked when another alarm blares on his HUD.  

"Oh shi- _e_ _t_ ," he swears, lunging out of the way of the massive demolition ball that comes out of friggin nowhere. It smashes into the ceiling a second later, raining plaster and concrete down. "Oh God, you guys are _nuts_."  

"Peter, you must leave," Karen insists, overriding the mute command. "Reinforcements are on the way. The hostiles are known to have enhanced weaponry. Severe injury is imminent."  

"How the hell did we miss that?" Peter wonders, ignoring that last comment because he could handle it. He wasn't _helpless_.  

"This bank has installed advanced sensor-blocks," Karen explains. "Mr Stark hypothesises that it's something your suit sensors are not advanced enough to overcome. An upgrade that he'll be making shortly. After you leave. Now, Peter."  

"I can't," Peter says, narrowly avoiding a hit by Crowbar to grit out, "it's my duty"; which is, of course, when Metal Helmet gets in a lucky blow, and the one wielding the demolition ball sends him flying back out of the window and into a lamppost across the street. "Ow. Hey, oh wow it's _this_ lamppost."  

"Incoming," Karen warns, thankfully shelving the argument for now. Peter looks up just in time to see Crowbar bearing down on him, with their other cronies strategically spread out and blocking all of Peter's escape routes; which, fuck.  

"Hey!" someone else shouts, and Peter barely has time to fling himself to the side and upwards when a familiar metal disc comes soaring through the air. It hits Crowbar on the wrist, who roars in pain but still doesn't drop the radioactive crowbar (radioactive crowbar – Peter doesn't understand, sometimes).  

Peter webs himself up, and neatly lands on top of the lamppost. "Hiya Cap," he says to the figure who catches the disc. God, it was still weird talking to his childhood hero. "Looking mighty drab today."  

"Queens," Captain America acknowledges, busy body-slamming one of would-be bank robbers. Was he still Captain America? Peter eyes the non-descript black body suit, no red, white, or blue in sight. "Heard you needed a bit of help," the older man continues.  

"Um," Peter says, webbing up one of the slower minions. Crowbar, Helmet, and Demolition Ball were still too fast for him to catch "Well, I mean, if you're offering-" 

"Are you bunking off school," comes Iron Man's robotic voice from behind him, sounding not slightly exasperated, " _again_?"  

"I didn't _mean_ to," Peter says crossly. "I had this covered."  

The faceplate flips up to reveal Mr Stark's displeased expression. "Right, see your mild concussion really says something different." He turned to look to Peter's right. "What up, Rogers."  

Captain America looks _pissed_. "You recruited a _kid_?"  

"Okay, firstly, hello to you, too," Mr Stark says, expression going positively stony. "Thought you were raised to have better manners than that."  

"I save them for people who – deserve – it." Captain America punctuates his words with vicious blows to Minion No.2.  

"Guys," Peter says cautiously, trying to get their attention. "Kind of in the middle of something here!" He spots Crowbar, Helmet, and Demolition Ball making a break for it. "Oh, no, no no-" he says, swinging after them. "Oi! Get back here!"  

"Fucking _move_ _it_ already," Crowbar snarls, going down hard when Peter webs his feet together. "Fuck!" 

"Oh man, I'm so sorry about the face," Peter says. He launches himself at Helmet. "Might add some character, I hear crooked noses are in style."  

"I can't believe you," he hears Captain America shout. "After all that crap about the Accords, you turn around and pull a _minor_ into this mess?"  

"He was doing this already!" Mr Stark shouts back. "I'm trying to protect him, like I was trying to protect _all of_ _us_."  

"When will you learn that you trying to protect people never ends well? Remember Ultron? Because _I_ do."  

"Fuck you, Rogers," says Mr Stark, quietly. The utter rawness of his tone stills Peter, and it's this split second's pause that gives Demolition Ball the opening he's been looking for. One moment Peter's standing on a small pile of rubble, the next he's flying through a wall that is most definitely not just concrete if the way everything goes blacks for a bit is any indication.  

When he comes to, it's to the taste of something metallic in his mouth and the sight of Mr Stark's goatee as the man leans over him. Everything hurts. Peter doesn't think his concussion's mild anymore.  

"Huh?" Peter says blearily. "Whuz happenin'." He remembers Demolition Ball - "Oh _f_ _uck_ I gotta stop 'em -" An armoured hand plants itself firmly on his chest, pushing down gently.  

"You gotta do _nothing_ but stay right here," Mr Stark says, voice weirdly shaky. Or maybe it was the ringing in Peter's ears. "FRIDAY, ETA on medical."  

"Mr Stark – Tony – the people -"  

"Rogers is handling it." Mr Stark's lips tighten as he listens to FRIDAY over the comms. "You're okay, just keep calm," he tells Peter, rather unnecessarily, because if anyone was freaking out, it was obviously Mr Stark.  

"I am calm," Peter says. "Why does everything hurt?"  

Mr Stark pales. "Don't look down."  

Peter looks down. Quickly looks back up. "Right." He tries not to think about the amount of blood pumping itself out of the deep gash in his abdomen. "Um. Why doesn't it hurt more?"  

"I've been pumping you with painkillers." Peter looks to his arm to see the gauntlet clamped over it. "But I'm running out. You're metabolising it too quickly. Okay – no, no, you need to keep the heartrate down." 

Peter squeezes his eyes shuts, willing his heart to slow down. It doesn't work. If anything, he swears it goes faster. "Am I gonna die?" he asks, only half joking.  

Something in Mr Stark's eyes shutters a bit. "No," he says fiercely, startling Peter a little. "You are _not_ dying. If medical could just come already – don't tell me they can't make it through _traffic_ , we have a quinjet for a reason."  

The quinjet had been moved to the upstate facility, Peter remembers fuzzily. He wonders why he knows. Ah, that's right, Mr Stark had told him, one afternoon. To move all potential weapons out of New York. But why were there still weapons right here in Queens, then? Peter doesn't know. Thinking was too tiring right now. Everything was tiring.  

"Hey, Mr Stark?" Peter gives Mr Stark what he hopes was an appropriately reassuring smile. "Just gonna... nap, okay? Got the healing factor anyway."  

He sees the older man's eyes go wide. "Wait Peter, you absolutely cannot go to sleep," Mr Stark begins, and Peter's opening his mouth to ask why, or at least he tries to because he isn't sure if any words come out, and -  

"Peter," he thinks he sees Mr Stark say, which is when he remembers decathlon practice, and MJ, and how he'd promised to never miss another one again. Fuck.  

"MJ's gonna kill me," he tells Mr Stark solemnly, before passing out.  


End file.
